


Justified

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way home from the vet, Bruce learns everything he didn't know about Damian's pets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justified

**Author's Note:**

> For a '600 followers prompts' submission on tumblr earlier this year.
> 
> Damian strikes me as the type to spoil the shit out of his pets, especially when injured, and thinking it’s perfectly logical/normal. This is just a story about him justifying their day out shopping for the animals and why it isn’t weird at all. They went straight from the vet to the shops, and Alfred has a cone of shame. He hates it, and probably thinks it is proper punishment for his boy to have to carry him around. Not that Damian minds of course. Bruce secretly thinks it’s all incredibly cute and that his son’s pets are ridiculously stupid. This is super lame and I’m not sorry at all.

Bruce couldn’t help but sigh. A mixture of exasperation, annoyance, and complete and utter fondness.

“Keep up, Father.” Damian chimed over his shoulder. “ _Pennyworth_ never walks this slow.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded, shifting the groupings of bags in both hands, before practically jogging up behind his son. “The bags are just…heavy.”

Damian glanced behind once more, lips pursed in disbelief. “ _Pennyworth_ never complains about the heaviness of the bags. And we normally buy double the amount you and I did today.”

“Oh?” Bruce challenged, but good-naturedly. “And how many of these… _excursions_ have you and Alfred been on, anyway?”

“Only one!” Damian swore, though with how quickly he turned away, back to the furry bundle in his arms, Bruce had the sense he was lying. “Or, well. Once or _twice_. But only if we’re counting when Titus was neutered.”

“Okay, say we _don’t_ count the neutering, for both the dog _and_ the cat.” Bruce nodded, smiling fakely when he noticed paparazzi nearby. He stepped quickly forward, effectively blocking the photographer from getting a shot of his son. “How many times have you and Alfred done this?”

“There was that time Titus found the porcupine in the woods.” Damian said thoughtfully. “And had to get that minor surgery to get the quills out of his muzzle.”

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about-”

“And the _last_ time Alfred tried to fight a flock of mourning doves.”

“…Wait.” Bruce tried. “You mean he’s tried to fight birds _bef_ -”

“ _And_ that time Titus got shot in the leg by a bank robber.” Damian finally looked up, apparently done cataloging the experiences that, Bruce was almost ashamed to say, his father had no knowledge of. “Though, we didn’t go to the vet for that one. Dr. Thompkins took care of it.”

“Shot by a-”

“It was when you were out of town, and Titus went patrolling with me. Don’t worry about it.” Damian waved him off. “But you’re always going on and _on_ about having only the _best_ for our family. And my pets _are_ our family. So.”

There were about ten things Bruce wanted to ask, wanted to retort with, but his son’s logic was just too simple. Just too… _cute_ in its childishness. And he’d been worried since the procedure had been scheduled, so it was nice to see Damian relaxing, even if it was through some strange sort of pet-retail therapy. In the end, Bruce just exhaled. “…Son?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember that time I told you I was a billionaire, not a trillionaire?”

“Sure.” Damian shrugged, frowning as the fluffy heap in his arms meowed sleepily, batting weakly at the plastic cone strapped around his neck. Damian gently took the paw, holding it gingerly in his hand. “You’d said it in reference to how easily I destroyed your training simulations.”

“…You know that goes for pet toys too, right?”

Damian scoffed. “The veterinarian said, as she _always_ does, that they need to be comfortable in their recovery.” Damian shifted his arms, pushing the cat up closer to his face. Alfred looked up at him wearily, giving a light meow, in the remaining haze of the anesthetic. Damian ducked into the cone, giving his youngest pet a gentle kiss on the nose. “And Alfred is most comfortable with clean, firm down-feather pillows and fleece blankets. Not to mention that special food the vet recommended.”

“Alfred _does_ already have a catbed.” Bruce hummed, absently going through his own memories. He suddenly recalled similar situations as today. Not so much the injuries to the animals, but the unexplained surplus of pet food, pet toys, and new beds. He’d always asked his butler, but the human Pennyworth would just smile and shake his head, diverting Bruce’s attention to some other matter at hand. “And he sleeps with you more often than not. Isn’t that enough comfort for him?”

Damian paused in his walking then, to rearrange the thin sheet he’d swaddled his cat in, before continuing his explanation as if his father had never even spoken. “And Alfred is deserving of some new toys, don’t you think? In a gesture of sympathy, and wishes of getting well soon.”

“I don’t know about the sympathy part.” Bruce muttered discreetly. Damian glanced expectantly up at him. “He _did_ attack those birds by his own free will. For the second time, _apparently_.”

“They are part of _our family_.” Damian reiterated, lips curved into a flustered pout. “And our family deserves _the best_.”

“Of course.” Bruce shot back playfully. “That’s why you insisted on carrying him yourself, as opposed to using the cat carrier we have at home?”

Damian gave a little stomp as stepped off to continue down the street. “…He doesn’t _like_ the cat carrier.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Bruce sighed a chuckle, suddenly thankful for how much Alfred truly took care of while Bruce was preoccupied. As he turned to follow the boy and his cat, over the swishing sound of the ten bags he carried he made the mental note to get the elder man a gift later, maybe at the same time he set up a separate budget for the care and pampering of Damian’s animal friends. “Silly me.”


End file.
